At Death Do They Part
by Mission to Marzipan
Summary: When Nico is invited to a wedding he assumes it will suck, but while attending he appears to meet the woman of his dreams. But is it too good to be true? Here's a clue: When has anything ever gone right in the life of a demigod?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. I**** don't remember when or why this came to me only that it did. So… uh… yeah. That's about it. This is a Nico-centric fic and ****will hopefully be a two chapter thing barring any of those episodes of prosaic diarrhoea I tend to be cursed with.**

**If there's one thing I'd ask of you it's to enjoy this if at all possible and to trust me just a little. **

**Okay, so that's two things. So sue me. Although in suing-related news, however, I would like to request that you actually _don't _sue me because I don't own any of this. It belongs to Rick Riordan. I am just taking his characters and work out for a little spin and promising not to scratch the paintwork.**

**There is Language in this. I'm afraid I have a mouth. You have been warned.**

**Marzipan.**

* * *

><p>Nico hated weddings.<p>

How anyone, anyone at all, could enjoy such pantomimes was beyond him.

However he, or at least Percy and Annabeth and himself as a sort of unfortunate extension, had got to that age where the invitations had started to come thick and fast; everyone that they knew had started to get _married_. Percy and Annabeth had started early all things considered, getting hitched when they were 25 — it was just shy of their five-year anniversary now. Now others were catching up as their thirties were looming large, with people from Camp all embarking on that special journey called holy matrimony in their droves. It sort of made him sick.

Wait, sort of? He meant _actually._

Invitations generally arrived for him in showers of rainbows courtesy of Iris — he didn't really have a fixed abode. Although he did keep a tiny apartment in Queens to have a permanent place close to Camp, just in case, he tended to stay in hotels instead, seeing the sights from the comfort of the penthouse suite. Annabeth had demanded of him several times "What kind of a life is that?" but, as far as he was concerned, it was a pretty damn awesome one, all room service and 4D cinema screens that descended from the ceilings.

Annabeth also nagged him about getting a job ("Don't you want some kind of _purpose _to your life, Nico?") but he had resisted so far. Why bother? Prince of the Underworld was enough of a job title for him — occasionally, when he was feeling like he wanted a bit of extra attention, which wasn't always, he would drop a H.R.H. in front of his name and watch hotel staff hop to. It wasn't like he was short of money and needed the income, was it?

He guessed that Annabeth worried about him because he was alone a lot of the time and, in her opinion, sort of meandered his way along in life without a direction, which was nice, he guessed, if irritating. She still needed to learn that that's how he _wanted _things to be.

Annabeth was the source of the invitations, he knew it. Most people he knew from Camp would rather have chewed off their left foot than invite him to their wedding — that was, if they even remembered/considered him when drawing up the guest list at all — and so the cascade of invites must come from Annabeth leaning on the bride and groom to wangle him an invitation. Being married to the son of Poseidon, saviour of the world, really tended to pack some punch in demigod circles. Annabeth wanted him to socialise every once in a while, because it was good for him (apparently) and so, when the invitations arrived, the badgering began shortly after.

It began in the form of text messages (with proper grammar, spelling and punctuation — Annabeth did not abbreviate) because they were harder for him to screen than phone calls and IMs. They were relatively gentle at first.

_Nico, I really think you should come to [insert couple here]'s wedding._

_Nico, it was so nice of them to invite you it would be rude not to come._

_Nico, it will be fun; everyone's got to have some fun sometimes you know, even you._

_Nico, it will be good for you to socialise with old friends and remind people that you exist._

_Nico, we hardly see you now, we miss you, come to the wedding with us?_

Often after a day or two of messages like this and he caved — as much as he hated weddings, he hated the potential consequences of saying no to Annabeth more. The woman was a force of freaking nature after all, especially when her mind was made up.

If he hadn't caved, though, she tended to step it up a notch, with gems including:

_Nico, you need to get a life for the gods' sake. Get your ass in a suit and shine your shoes, you are coming to this wedding if I have to drag you there by your ridiculously-overgrown hair._

_Nico, if you don't come to this wedding and enjoy yourself I am going to attack your apartment with every single cleaning product ever created and tidy up so hard you will never find anything ever again._

Finally, if he was feeling particularly brass-balled and that hadn't worked either, the next stage was the kind of temptation that Sirens could learn from.

_There will be cake._

_There will be free booze._

_You know, weddings are full of miserable, lonely women who are more than a little bit desperate…_

Nico preferred it when they couldn't use cell phones but since Malcolm from the Athena cabin had started working for AT&T the entire network had been made safe for demigods to use. Nico was sure that there was some kind of competition laws being broken right there but, hey, he wasn't Congress. It was none of his business.

It was usually the free alcohol that tempted him. He wasn't even sure why Annabeth always put the prospect of getting a date was one of the top items on her list of temptations — he did well enough with women, thank you very much. It was just that right now he had no real desire to actually _date_: at this point in his life, he found that sex was just way easier to deal with.

He had had a few girlfriends (if that term could have been used given how short-lived they seemed to be) over the years but they didn't usually last that long for a number of reasons, including the fact that he was too much of a wanderer and could never stay still for long enough. He found being tied down a little frustrating sometimes, which wasn't a popular personality trait of his amongst women apparently. Plus, he found emotions (his and others') tricky to manage, which never really boded well. He knew he was scarily like his father in that way.

Although there had been a few semi-successful relationships along the way, he ultimately found that a lot of women wanted to either fuck him or mother him, without many landing in between. The first worked for him. The second, most definitely, did not.

It took quite a bit of dedication to date Nico di Angelo, what with his tendency towards emotional distance (he was working on it, he really, really was) making it hard to understand what _he_ was feeling let alone other people. People's facial expressions often confused him as well. Like he was meant to know what people were thinking and feeling through weird scrunches of the face.

There was a list of other issues people, especially women, had with him: his dark sense of humour; his 'moodiness' (what _was _that when it was at home, anyway?); his social awkwardness…

If all of that didn't put them off, then it was generally something else. He had gone on a few dates with a girl (Lisa? Lizzie? Liliya, it was Liliya) who couldn't really deal with the fact that he wore a smaller size in jeans than her. Another girl had kicked him to the kerb because she had discovered him clawing a hole in her flowerbed and pouring 7UP into it while chanting (that may have been a little weird for her to discover; perhaps she was justified).

One of his most recent dates with a girl called Amy had ended abruptly because her dog would not stop barking at him, which was a fairly common reaction that canines which were not hellhounds had around him. After two hours of trying to make out she'd told him to leave exasperatedly (nice to see that she put the dog before him), at which point the dog had attacked him, biting him in the calf, and he'd accidentally kicked the stupid little rat thing and sent it skidding across the hardwood floor. Then she'd been _really_ pissed and that was the last he saw of her.

And if that _still _wasn't enough, there was then fact that, oh right, as a son of the Big Three he was subject to assassination attempts at all hours of the day and night, which were events that were really, _really _hard to just explain away.

Oh I'm sorry your living room is destroyed but while you were out getting those groceries a monster showed up and tossed me around a little but don't worry I killed it and that vase I broke was a gift from your dead grandmother and you're sure it can't be glued back together?

Needless to say, that would never work.

Nico turned the latest invitation to arrive over and over in his hands and could not stop a slight sneer curling his lip. He shouldn't be so judgemental but all of the invites he had seen were ridiculously elaborate; they looked like they needed an architect to plan (perhaps a job on the side for Annabeth?) and some looked like they'd need a zoning permit.

This one, however, was mercifully simpler and was only a tri-folded sheet of thick, cream cardboard embossed with gold calligraphy and ears of corn and tied closed with a bright green satin ribbon. He mused on the fact that wedding invitations were probably one of the few things that kept the postal service going nowadays what with text messages and emails taking over. No one ever emailed a wedding invitation, did they? It had to be done with a gigantic paper construction that not only invited you but told you what to wear and where to buy the gifts and a whole host of other stupid junk. Surely him turning up and gracing them with his presence was enough of a gift, what he wore be damned?

He blinked, having momentarily forgotten what he was doing, and then sighed upon remembering, untying the ribbon and flipping the card open to discover who it was that was getting married this time.

_Mr and Mrs David Gardner cordially invite you—_

He stopped reading there. Katie Gardner. Well, that explained the ears of corn, he guessed, which he thought had been a particularly odd choice but now made perfect sense. As a daughter of Demeter, Katie was Nico's cousin and, therefore, a much closer relative in the godly sense than many others at Camp. Perhaps he should go; perhaps it would be good to see people from Camp again (the ones that didn't treat him like a freak, anyway). Plus he hadn't dropped in on Percy and Annabeth for a couple of months, which was longer than he normally left between visits.

Nico chewed on his thumbnail for a while, staring at his phone a little apprehensively. He knew that that the onslaught of messages he would receive from Annabeth about the wedding would begin soon. Scrolling through the contacts list on his phone he alighted on Annabeth (who was filed firmly under 'C' for Chase because that was the name she'd got her PhD under and had kept it) and dialled. It rang for a little longer than it would usually do before she picked up.

"If you're not dying, Nico, then there better another damn good reason you're calling at 3am," Annabeth said in his ear, her voice a little muffled with sleep.

Nico's eyes glanced over at the clock. Whoops. Stupid time zones. It was daylight where he was. "I'm calling to tell you to save your breath or, well, your thumbs about Katie's wedding. I'm coming."

"That's why you woke me up?" Annabeth demanded irritably.

"Hey, I thought you'd be pleased," Nico said a little reproachfully. "Normally you're like a dog with a bone about the stupid weddings."

"I'm thrilled," Annabeth said dryly. "Absolutely ecstatic. Now some of us have to work in the morning, so…"

"_Fine_. See you there," Nico said huffily and hung up without saying goodbye. It wasn't _his _fault that she went to bed at a sensible time and slept for eight hours per night (no more, no less). Some may say that Annabeth Chase was getting a little predictable in her old age but if you mentioned that to her first of all you got a fist aimed at you and secondly you got reams of research thrown at you about how beneficial a healthy lifestyle was. Eight glasses of water, seven portions of fruit and vegetables, the whole nine yards. He might actually look into it one day — the day he decided to stop having any fun ever that is.

Tossing the phone over the back of the couch onto the cushions he climbed over the back of the piece of furniture and flopped down in front of the cinema screen (which was blocking most of the suite's panoramic view of Dubai). On it a video game was paused; Nico picked up the wireless controller and returned to shooting virtual soldiers.

And that's how Nico came to be standing duly in the designated place at the designated time with a gift purchased from the designated store and considering, not for the first time, adding a cane to the variation of ensembles he wore to these occasions. Something about the shiny shoes and the suit made him want to carry a cane. Was that a little bit weird? No, it wasn't. He could make a cane work, he was sure of it.

A fly buzzed close to his ear, jerking him away from his thoughts about cane shopping. Stupid nature. Probably the wrong thing to say given whose wedding it was but…

He looked around at the people milling on the gravel at the front of the chapel and shuffled his feet self-consciously. So far, it didn't look like he knew many people here. Then again, given the fact the people at this wedding that he _would_ know were demigods and thus the product of wedlock with pagan entities perhaps they were hanging back from the chapel. Made sense. Katie, however, was marrying a mortal and so the chapel was pretty par for the course.

How much the groom really knew about his new bride was another thing Nico didn't know; that was really something they should have been included in the invitation. If Katie was marrying him then it was pretty safe to think that he knew but what if, forced to make conversation with him, Nico started dropping various gods-related bombs and the guy freaked because he _didn't_ know?

Awkward. Very, _very_ awkward.

Nico was feeling increasingly uncomfortable stood by himself; he was sure people were looking at him weirdly and trying to work out who he was, what the hell he was doing here. He felt that pretending to text had gone on for too long now to look realistic anymore and so, turning his back slightly to the crowd, he pulled a hipflask from his pocket and took a quick swig from it. Like he was going to wait for the reception to start with the booze when he felt this out of place.

He nearly spat his drink out when someone clapped him on the back; he managed to swallow it but only just and not without coughing so hard his eyes watered. When the tears cleared he saw Percy grinning lopsidedly at him, trying to hide amusement at the fact that he had almost accidentally drowned his cousin.

On his arm was Annabeth, coiffured and made up as she always was for these occasions in a way that made her look like Stepford Annabeth. She was wearing a knee-length, off-the-shoulder lilac dress teamed with a clutch purse and heels in a darker purple and was looking at him disapprovingly.

"Nico, is that really a hip flask?" she asked, half exasperated, half disappointed. "Are you really going to be _that _guy?"

"If that guy drinks scotch, doesn't want to be here and feels like a complete and total idiot standing in front of everyone while they stare at him like a giant freak then yes," Nico grumbled. He then moaned, "I hate this."

He offered the flask to Annabeth and Percy. Annabeth cocked a _'seriously?' _eyebrow at him in response; Percy's hand twitched towards the flask but he caught himself and mouthed _'Later' _to his cousin. Nico screwed the flask back up and put it in his pocket with a shrug.

"You're _fine_," Annabeth said, relenting slightly at his obvious discomfort. "Well, I mean, not exactly fine because you're wearing black and white to one of these things _again _like this is a funeral but you know, mostly fine."

"At least I have someone to talk to now," Nico said grudgingly. "Why does this kind of stuff always seem like a good idea when it's in your head but when you're actually here it just plain sucks?"

"It's barely started yet," Annabeth said breezily. "You might enjoy it."

Nico snorted. "How? You just made me put the booze away."

"Come on, it'll be over before you know it," Percy said. "They don't take that long really and they're all pretty much the same. It's all dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join blah and blah in holy matrimony. Blah blah blah for richer for poorer, for blah and for blah, and in blah and in health. Any objections please speak now — insert dramatic pause — then I now pronounce you husband and wife. And then they kiss. Done."

"Oh how romantic. Is that all that you remember from _our_ wedding?" Annabeth asked him pointedly, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

"And how much do _you_ remember?" Percy asked, his mouth turning upwards into a mischievous grin.

Annabeth paused. On her wedding day, she'd been woken early by a hoard of Aphrodite girls providing hair and makeup, skipped breakfast because she'd felt nauseous, and then had been so buzzed on excitement and love for Percy that the ceremony itself was sort of a blur. She _did _remember the fact that throats had been cleared very loudly to remind her to kick off her vows (her mind had wandered; she'd been wondering about the history of garters) but apart from that…

"We have it on Blu-ray," Annabeth eventually said with a shrug. "We'll just refresh ourselves whenever."

"Wow, yeah, I forgot it's on a Blu-ray," Percy said. "Can you believe we used to use those?"

Nico looked from Percy to Annabeth and back again then rolled his eyes heavily. "Remind me: why do I always let you talk me into this?"

"Because deep down you know it's good for you," said Annabeth a little smugly. "You know, to be around real people with pulses?"

Nico narrowed his eyes. "I resent that. I know plenty of people with pulses."

"Sure you _know _them but do you actually spend any time with them?" Annabeth asked knowingly.

Nico opened his mouth to retort but Annabeth was rescued from his scathing remark as people began to slowly head towards the doors of the chapel en masse, as if some switch had been thrown telling everyone to move at once. Percy raised his eyebrows at Annabeth and stuck out an elbow for her; she rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly with her clutch purse but then looped her arm through his.

Nico felt slightly abandoned all over again and was just about to give up and vanish into the shadows of the shrubbery when someone bumped into him, nearly knocking him over. He turned and scowled at the offending person but the look of death (pardon the pun) that he'd been intending to shoot melted off his face.

The woman standing behind him had the most ridiculously-large eyes he had ever seen; they were light blue and flecked with hazel and shone out of her face at him like beacons. Her hair was dark blonde and thick; it had been French braided away from her forehead, from where it joined the artfully scrunched one-sided ponytail resting on her right shoulder. Her cheekbones were wide and pronounced and helped to give her face a heart shape. She was wearing earrings made from teardrop-shaped pearls and just a smattering of makeup; however, unlike Annabeth, it looked like the makeup belonged on her skin, like she was a newly-painted canvas. She, too, had come in sombre shades — a black dress slashed a little too high on the thigh to be considered tasteful wedding attire with silver and white detailing.

Nico swallowed hard, temporarily lost for words. "Uh…" he began, his throat drying out a little as she continued to stare at him with those pretty eyes of hers.

"My fault," she said with a smile and a self-deprecating eye roll. "I knew I should have put on one of those ridiculous hats that everyone else is wearing; then I'd have been visible from space."

Nico, who had just been wondering where in Hades the majority of women had dug their hats and fascinators out from, laughed. "Tell me about it. I think I saw a woman who'd jammed a purple, half-plucked chicken on her head," Nico said, easily now the ice had been broken.

"Ah, yes, the dead poultry look. Fresh from the Paris catwalk," she said, and when she smiled — revealing two rows of neat, white teeth that looked so similar to the string of pearls around her neck — her eyes swam with mirth, glittering in the sunlight.

"So are you here by yourself?" Nico asked, aiming for casual. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that most people had entered the chapel now; Annabeth would probably be tutting and looking at her watch right about now, wondering where he had got to.

Oh well.

"My name is Amélie and yes, Nico di Angelo, I am very much here by myself," she said.

"You know who I am?" Nico asked, unable to keep a slight croak out of his voice at the news.

Amélie smiled and leaned towards him. "Of course I do," she said, her voice dropping in volume so he had to lean in too. "You're pretty famous after all."

"I am?"

"You're a son of the Big Three, Nico," she said. "You don't come much closer to being a celebrity in demigod terms than that. I think we all know your name where I'm from."

Nico was about to say something but the sound of tyres on gravel distracted him. Katie had arrived in a horse drawn open hay cart, perched with her bridesmaids on bales of hay. The sides of the cart were decorated with sheaves of wheat and ears of corn, all wound up with the same bright green ribbon that had been used on the invitations.

"Whoops, that's our cue," Amélie whispered to Nico. "We better go in and get this over with. The sooner they get started…" She slipped her arm through Nico's, surprising the son of Hades slightly, and then pressed her opposite hand onto his.

Now she was right next to him, Nico could smell her — her perfume or shampoo or something was incredible. It reminded him of something that he couldn't place, something he had probably smelled a long time ago and it was almost achingly familiar. He allowed himself to be lead into the chapel, nodding and smiling at Katie, who was being helped down from the cart, as he went before walking into the cool and gloom of the chapel, Amélie on his arm.

The wedding was nothing special, nothing that Nico hadn't seen before. Katie came into the chapel to the sound of a string quartet, there were the apposite murmurs and gasps as she came in, she got to the altar, they said their vows. There were songs, there was a reading about love or whatever, and then the string quartet played the new husband and wife down the aisle.

Amélie had airily and boredly given a running commentary throughout the whole thing, forcing Nico to cough as a way of covering up laughter but still earning all kinds of filthy looks. Amélie had been pointing out the groom's drunken uncle, veins broken all along his cheeks and singing off-key and out of time, and the groom's mother, who looked like she was chewing her tongue so hard it was probably turning to mincemeat. The woman who, according to Amélie, was dressed in yellow and cream and looked like a New York cheesecake; the man who had had stapled a road kill skunk over his bald spot; the stained glass man in the window who was crawling around like he'd lost a contact lens…

She had brought out the worst in Nico and he had caught the bug from her, bemoaning his lack of a shield in case the buttons of the guy who looked like he had eaten a baby hippo since buying his suit pinged off like bullets and pointing out the teenage boy who was bored out of his mind and desperately trying not to be seen texting by his mother.

They had showered Katie and her new husband, whose name had escaped Nico, with confetti (dried flower petals only, _another_ stipulation on the invitation) until they'd both climbed on the hay cart together and been pulled away to the reception.

"Well, we survived," Amélie said, pulling out a compact and checking her reflection briefly, making minute adjustments to her lipgloss with her baby finger before sliding the mirror back into her purse. "We managed not to die of boredom. Now, onwards. There is going to be alcohol next."

"Why wait?" Nico said mischievously, pulling out his flask and handing it to her.

Amélie smiled widely and laughed a little before unscrewing the cap, smelling the contents and then knocking some back. "Oh nothing but the best for the son of Hades," she said approvingly. "21-year-old, oak-aged? It's got that dark, bitter mocha taste as well." She paused, savouring the taste, and then took another drink. "I approve."

"You know your whiskeys?" he said, cocking his head at her, his facial expression happily bemused, tinged with disbelief.

Amélie snorted. "I know my _scotches,_" she corrected pointedly. "I don't deal in any old whiskey. Life's too short, don't you think?"

Nico laughed. "_Gods yes_. This is what I've been saying for years." He paused and looked into her eyes, which were still sparkling at him. He felt something flutter around his sternum; when she smiled, the corners of his mouth tugged up too — seeing her happy made him happy for a reason he couldn't pin down. "You know, right now, I'm kind of wondering where in Hades you've been all my life. Because believe me: I've been looking down there."

"Probably playing some _Call of Duty_," she said sheepishly. "Sometimes, I forget about going outside."

"You game?" Nico asked, his mouth falling open and awe tingeing his words.

"Of course," she said, looking hurt that he had suggested otherwise. "Please don't act so surprised that I could kick your virtual ass."

At that moment, Nico wondered if he had ever been happier to be with a person than he was to be with Amélie right now. He looked around quickly but couldn't see Percy and Annabeth; then again, most people were slowly leaving now, following the hay cart. The wedding was set in the sprawling grounds of a hotel, which Nico assumed had been hired at great expense — the guests would have an easy move from the chapel to the reception area in the wake of the cart and perhaps Percy and Annabeth were already on their way, having seen that he was busy.

Nico imagined that Annabeth in particular, after the crack about not knowing anyone with a pulse, would be particularly pleased that he had found someone to talk to and had probably decided to leave him to it.

"We'll see later about you kicking my ass," Nico said, throwing down the gauntlet. "Now, however, how about we go and eat?"

"Inviting me to dinner?" Annabeth said jokily. "My, my, Nico. This is all moving so fast; I don't know what to say…"

"Well, personally, the word 'Yes' comes to mind," Nico said. "Don't leave a guy hanging here."

"Fine. I'd love to," Amélie said. "You've persuaded me. No… _hanging_ for you. Lead on."

They were amongst the last of the guests to leave the area in front of the chapel. Soon, no one remained to hear the growling in the bushes.

They followed the crowd until they arrived at a large marquee with an easel outside which had the seating plan propped up on it. There was a knot of people in front of it. The tables were round and all named after various crops (Wheat, Barley, Corn, Oats et cetera). As Amélie was squeezing through the crowd behind Nico to see where they were sitting, she skirted around behind him, running a hand lightly over his lower back and then down his arm to his fingertips as she pushed forward. At her touch, Nico got a serious case of goosebumps and he stopped in his tracks, accidentally stepping on someone's toe as he stopped to stare after her as she slipped to the front of the crowd.

When the group of people began to thin Nico went in after her, his eyes sweeping the board not just his name but for Amélie's also. He found his own name on the Sorghum table (no, Nico had no clue, either; he assumed it was one of the forgotten grains to match the forgotten people on the forgotten table 'conveniently' located right next to the bathrooms) but couldn't see Amélie's name.

"Where are you sitting?" Nico asked her, disappointed that they wouldn't be spending the meal together.

"Next to you," Amélie said, tapping her finger on the seat next to Nico's.

Nico watched the letters of the name squiggle and change under her nail, which were painted black and decorated with silvery patterns like spiders' webs. "You're changing the seating plan?" he asked in disbelief. "You've not been to many of these things, have you? People have been killed for less than that."

"I'm sure you'll come to my defence," Amélie said, a coy smile playing across her lips.

"Try and stop me," Nico immediately retorted.

"No, I'd rather not," Amélie said in a low voice, doing that lean-in thing again. He felt her breath on his ear and forced himself to repress a shiver. "I'd like to watch that... I've seen you with a sword, Nico, and believe me: it's quite the sight." She smiled at him again, beckoning with her eyes, which had now seemed to shift in colour to a darker blue, still enthrallingly translucent just closer to navy now. She began to walk, checking briefly over her shoulder to make sure that he was following (which he was — of course he was, what else was he going to do, he wasn't _insane_) and crossed into the giant, permanent marquee the reception was being held under.

Nico did not take in any of the decoration, which said a lot considering that it was the only tent he'd ever been in with a chandelier. The only thing he saw was the flash of pale, white thigh as Amélie sashayed through the crowd, parting people and setting them murmuring in her wake. Her dress glittered under the lights and even her hair seemed to shine. Nico put her at around 5'8", tall enough for a woman, but she was wearing three inch heels that brought her within a fraction of his six feet (his growth spurt had come late but it had arrived, although all energy had seemingly gone upwards instead of outwards: he was still as skinny as ever). The way she crossed the room, with the height on her side, people seemed mesmerised by her presence.

As he followed her, his feet moving almost autonomously in her wake, his hand twitched briefly towards the hilt of his sword hilt of his sword as one of the groomsmen stopped dead, slopping champagne over his arm, to leer at her as she walked past. He then remembered that he didn't have it with him — he'd tried to bring it at previous weddings and Annabeth _did not _approve.

They finally reached their table — if the marquee was the universe and the top table was the sun, they were somewhere way, _way_ beyond Pluto — and Amélie sat down, crossing her legs languidly and working the split in her dress.

"Are you a child of Hecate?" Nico asked her quietly when they were settled. "That was magic that changed the seating plan, wasn't it?"

"Perhaps," was all Amélie would say in reply, her eyes glittering at him and her lips working a little kittenishly.

She reached for the bottle of red wine in the centre of the table but had done so at the same time as an elderly man. She flashed him a huge smile, revealing her teeth right back to her wisdoms and graciously held out a hand, letting him take the bottle first. Under his wrinkles and white moustache, Nico saw him blush. He paused, still leaning towards the centre of the table, until a woman of around the same age that Nico assumed was his wife cleared her throat loudly, shooting a glare at Amélie, and pulled at his coattails until he returned with the wine bottle and poured her a glass.

Nico glared icily at the man until he sat down again and then turned and tried to engage Amélie in further conversation. "Where are you from?" he asked. "I don't think I ever saw you at Camp."

"Here and there," she non-answered. "I've been around."

"You really are vague and mysterious, aren't you?" Nico asked, fascinated.

Amélie accepted the wine back with from the old man with another dazzling smile and poured them both a glass. "Drink," she encouraged, raising her glass and clinking it with Nico's when he raised his own. They both took sips and set their glasses down.

"Besides, look who it is calling the kettle back," Amélie said and her voice seemed to purr as she mocked him. She dug an elbow into his side playfully but the jab winded Nico a little and he tried not to wince. "Son of Hades, always in the shadows, doesn't play well with others..."

"That's not everything about me," Nico protested. "I'm not just—"

"Prince of the Underworld?" Amélie finished. "Sure, but that's a big part of you. And hey, you know, what's not to like about that...?"

Her middle and index fingers walked down his arm until she reached his hand, which she brushed briefly with her fingertips. This time Nico saw the goosebumps appear just above his wrist and felt them continue up the sleeve of his jacket. He cocked his head at them as they began to flatten and then glanced at Amélie, but she was talking to the old man again, who was apparently Katie's great uncle, laughing at flirting as he told her about Iowa and growing crops as if he was telling the most fascinating story in the world.

There was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but there was just _something _that his brain told him he should know about her that wouldn't make itself known. He glanced around quickly, suddenly feeling a little alarmed, and realised that he was the only demigod at this table. Why that panicked him so much he had no idea but the thought made him drain his glass quicker than he would have done. The red wine thundered in his head as it worked its way up from his empty stomach. He had barely set the glass down before Amélie had poured him another one.

The food came and went. Three courses (thankfully not all grain-based) seemed to cycle through rapidly, with the main course being, unsurprisingly, salmon. Apparently, weddings demanded that salmon be fed to the guests. Nico, who didn't like salmon or the ubiquitous broccoli that accompanied it, had eaten the potatoes and then toyed with the main course with his fork, flaking the fish. His stomach growled at him in protest as the plate was taken away; further protestations were made at the sight of the tiny, minimalist round dessert, which was gone in two (tea)spoonfuls. He was hungrier than when he had come in and the wine was really starting to buzz in his ears — apparently, that morning's Lucky Charms were poor absorbers of alcohol. Duly noted.

When Nico didn't fall asleep during the toasts he patted himself on the back. The best man had forgotten to mention the bride in his speech and had toasted with a champagne flute without the stem — he'd drunkenly squeezed too hard and snapped it during the toast read by the father of the bride and was apparently too far gone to notice that his hand was dripping blood onto the tablecloth.

Finally, Nico huffed an enormous sigh of relief — earning a dirty look from Great Aunt and Uncle Iowa — and the meal was over. Amélie excused herself immediately, heading for the ladies' room, and Nico hovered awkwardly, his eyes searching the room for any familiar face.

He saw Percy and Annabeth talking to Katie and the groom (he was going to have to sneak a look at the tags on the wedding presents, wasn't he, if he wanted to remember his name) — Annabeth had her arm around Percy's back and Percy's arm was draped over her shoulder, with Annabeth turned slightly inwards towards his chest and they were talking happily, probably offering congratulations.

Bah. Married couples and their marital bliss. What did they know?

His eyes continued to rove the scene until he spotted a flash of red hair hovering near the bar area. Rachel had gone all out with her hair — it had been straightened and sleekened and was held in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Nico smiled and was about to raise a hand to wave and attract her attention, but suddenly someone behind him was digging him in the ribs and he gasped, turning slightly and finding himself face to face with Amélie, their noses practically touching, as she flung one arm up onto his shoulder.

"Take this," she hissed, pressing something large and cold into his stomach.

Nico glanced down — they were pressed so close together that it was hard for him to see the full, open bottle of champagne. The cold began to worm its way through his shirt. "What?" he whispered, moving slightly to his left and pushing his hips closer to hers to hide the bottle from the view of the old couple.

Amélie stood on tiptoe. "Under your jacket," she breathed in his ear and then, almost unbelievably, her teeth grazed his earlobe as she lowered herself back onto her heels.

Nico blinked hard and swallowed but needed no more persuading — the bottle was under his jacket in a flash while her chin was still brushing the small hollow of his left clavicle on the way down.

"Good boy," she said, flashing those ridiculously white teeth again, her grin predatory. "Now — walk. Let's get this night started."

Nico's face barely had time to crease into a frown before she spun him around and, with her hand pressed into the small of his back, laced her arm through the one that was currently holding the neck of the bottle of champagne underneath the opposite side of his jacket. They were heading towards the entrance to the tent and Nico took one last, almost desperate, look behind him, but the only eye he caught was that of Travis Stoll (who had finally reconciled with Katie after the chocolate Easter bunnies incident). All Travis did was give him to thumbs up and a wink and possibly a wolf-whistle, but it was hard to be sure over the guests' hubbub.

It was almost dark now as they headed away from the tent. Amélie whipped her head around quickly, throwing hair into her face, and Nico wanted so badly to reach and brush it out of her face but they were walking too fast and one of his hands was busy enough with the champagne.

"I've booked a room," she said to him, nodding and smiling at two waiting staff heading in the opposite direction, back towards the reception.

The main building was a large mansion (built approximately 50 years ago and made to look as if that figure were actually 500), built out of grey stone with fake black wooden beams on the outside and windows that looked like they were latticed with lead but were actually plastic double-glazing. The whole building was perched on top of a gentle slope as if supervising all that was going on below.

The twilight had brought to life fairy lights which were laced through ornamental bushes on either side of the walkway up to the hotel and Nico was almost rendered breathless by the way the soft light played across Amélie's features, seeming to set her very skin glowing luminously.

The two of them made their way up some stone steps and through the hotel's double doors into the lobby, a triple-height room with the second and third floor visible as two railed galleries running around all four sides of the room. The reception desk was right in front of them and behind that was a grand staircase that led up to the first gallery. Above them, an enormous chandelier glittered on the ceiling.

Nico turned to face Amélie as they walked through the door, taking in the light bouncing off her gold-coloured hair and turning into a halo, and almost lost grip on the champagne bottle, his arms feeling as momentarily weak as his knees. She was doing all of the walking now; he didn't think he could actually move without her arm on his back, helping him along and keeping him close. She took them to the reception desk, elicited a key and then they headed for the stairs.

"You look amazing," Nico breathed as she swiped the cardkey and pushed the door open. "Beautiful."

Amélie laughed — to Nico, it reminded him of music. "Do you really think so?" she said demurely, closing the door with a quiet click and delicately turning the deadbolt with a deft twist of her fingers.

She turned to face Nico, removing her hand from his back for the first time, and he barely supressed a whimper at the lack of contact, which set another slow, meaningful smile in motion on Amélie's lips. She leaned closer and extracted the champagne from beneath his jacket, placing it on the desk next to them before pushing a hand into his chest and shoving him backwards against the door. She ran a hand down his chest and the first three buttons wormed their way out of their holes of their own accord — Nico helped the process along by reaching up and yanking off his tie.

They broke apart and Amélie turned on her heel, heading for the bathroom and snagging the champagne on the way past. As he slipped around the bathroom door Nico sighed heavily and leant backwards, knocking the back of his head against the door. His heart was pounding.

Amélie returned with two glasses from the bathroom filled with champagne and gave one to Nico, knocking hers straight back and encouraging him to do the same. He did, trying hard not to choke on the bubbles and ignoring the way it mingled with the red wine already in his stomach. Amélie poured more and took a big sip, not taking her eyes off him.

Nico managed only a small second sip, thinking to himself that he probably shouldn't have any more alcohol. He already felt pretty drunk. Then his phone rang. It took several attempts to get it out of his pants pocket and when he did he saw it was Annabeth calling him. He was about to answer when Amélie plucked the phone from his hand and threw it over her shoulder carelessly. It hit the wall with a crunch and fell ominously silent.

"No interruptions," Amélie said, shaking her head. "Not now. Not tonight."

Nico was about to protest on his phone's behalf but Amélie was walking backwards towards the bed and beckoning him with one of those sparkly fingernails and it was all he could do to snag his champagne and follow.

* * *

><p>"No answer," Annabeth said shortly, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at her phone.<p>

"Try again," Rachel said, but Annabeth was already dialling, needing no encouragement. While Annabeth was trying to connect to Nico, Rachel looked around. She, Percy and Annabeth were outside of the marquee, watching the lights around the dance floor flash against the white canvas walls and they all had to speak a little louder than normal over the music.

"Straight to voicemail," Annabeth reported, staring at her phone as if it were the gadget's fault.

"And you're sure you saw him in trouble?" Percy asked Rachel.

Rachel nodded. "Yup. Nico's in some serious danger. I don't think he knows who he left with."

Riptide had appeared in Percy's hand as soon as he'd seen Rachel nod. "Okay then," he said. "Then let's find him. He's gonna owe me so many favours when I save his life…"

"We've got to save it first," Rachel said grimly.

"Watch and learn, Dare," Percy said with a grin, swinging Riptide around and around in circles. "Watch and learn."


	2. Chapter 2

**Apologies for taking so, so long with this. I really struggled with writing it for some reason. It's taken a long time, the luxury _of_ time, the rest afforded by the holidays and a lot of music from the Kerrang! radio station to get this done. That was a combination I hadn't had until now.**

**I want to thank everyone who has read, favourited, reviewed etc. It really does make me feel special and I hope that people are still out there irrespective of the long delay.**

**Wishing a happy new year to one and all,**

**Marzipan.**

* * *

><p>"She's a sorceress," Rachel said, brushing a strand of hair that had been over-processed for the night out of her face. They were hurrying up the hill towards the hotel now and her 'do was suffering, coming down into her face as they hit the steps, her and Annabeth's heels clacking on the stone.<p>

On hearing this, Percy's mouth turned into a thin line as he burst through the main doors but he didn't say anything. The bright of the lobby after the darkness outside was too much and it took him a while to adjust and get his bearings. Travis Stoll had told them that he had seen Nico and the woman heading towards the hotel but now they were here Percy had no idea where to go next.

Annabeth snorted. "She can pull as many rabbits out of hats as she likes. We'll beat her."

"I think she'll probably do a lot more than that," Rachel said grimly. "She's not that powerful but she really, _really _wants in with the bad side of Underworld. Assassinating its Prince would probably help her with that."

"You know before a battle there's this thing we do. False bravado, keeping spirits up?" Annabeth tried. "Does none of that mean anything to you?"

Rachel shrugged. "Not really. I never got that. If we're going to die we're going to die. You might as well be straight with us about it."

"We're going to _die_?" Annabeth asked incredulously, sounding a little strangled. "Tonight?" She had stumbled on the way up the steps as she turned around to crane her head disbelievingly at Rachel. Gods. You came to a wedding expecting to have fun and now she was about to leave in a body bag? Perhaps Nico had the right idea when it came to weddings: avoid them at all cost.

"Not sure," Rachel said breezily, ascending past Annabeth on the steps. "We might. It's a little murky. Blame Nico. Every time he pops up in one of my visions they're always full of death. I can just never tell whose death or whether it's just his natural aura or whatever."

Annabeth was momentarily speechless — to cover this she finished climbing up the steps two at a time, catching up with Rachel and entering the lobby with the redhead at her right elbow. A lot of the time she didn't understand Rachel at all. They could all die tonight, maybe, and all that Rachel was giving her was calm acceptance? Then again, Rachel did generally have a serious case of the _que sera sera _philosophy, probably part of being able to See all that she could. In most cases, Rachel took the view that whatever happened must have been meant to happen.

Annabeth didn't share Rachel's faith in the Universe; she found that view of the world bordering on insanity and sometimes she wondered if the Oracle made Rachel that kooky or whether it was the way that she'd always been.

"Room 327," Percy said to them, appearing on Annabeth's left side. "That's where they are."

"How do you know?" Annabeth asked.

"The receptionist told me," Percy said, aiming for casual but his voice was a little higher than normal and he couldn't finish the sentence without clearing his throat guiltily. "Okay. So, uh, let's go. Move out!" He headed to the stairs and Annabeth and Rachel followed behind him.

"That's your lying voice," Annabeth told him suspiciously.

"I'm not lying!" Percy said, using the same tone all over again and cursing himself inwardly for it. "She really did tell me."

As he made his way up the stairs Annabeth caught sight of something written on the back of his right hand. She darted up the stairs two at a time, hitching up her dress in a very unladylike manner, and grabbed Percy's wrist. Given that he was right-handed, there was no way that he had written that on there himself. On closer inspection, she discovered it was a phone number.

They'd reached the first landing when Annabeth started waving Percy's hand at him. "What's this?" she demanded.

Rachel settled back against the wall impassively, her head cocked slightly to one side, to watch as Percy's mouth worked silently.

"Phone number," Percy said airily, glancing upwards. "They're on the third floor," he said. "More stairs come on."

"Whose?" Annabeth demanded, tucking her hands into her hips.

Percy sighed. "The receptionist," he admitted. "Her idea, not mine by the way."

Annabeth snorted, turning around and glaring back down the stairs with murder in her eyes. "I'll bet it was," she said. "You guys can save Nico by yourself, right?" she asked. "I'm going to sort something out downstairs…"

"Annabeth," Percy said, grabbing her arm and rolling his eyes. "It was nothing. We needed to know which room Nico was in, right? So I sort of… flirted it out of her."

"Hey, look, if you've got it, flaunt it," Rachel said with a shrug, pushing herself off the wall and wading in to break up the argument, which they really did not have the time for. "And let's face it: Percy's kind of got it. Besides, don't tell me you've never flirted your way to anything."

Annabeth opened her mouth to issue a vehement denial then realised that she was no hypocrite and huffed a big sigh. Her mouth snapped closed again. "Fine. You're right." She started to climb the stairs, leaving Percy and Rachel alone on the landing. "But you're washing your hand as soon as we rescue Nico!" she called from above them.

* * *

><p>"How did <em>they <em>find you?" Amélie snarled at Nico as if Percy, Annabeth and Rachel collectively hammering on the outside of the room's door and calling his name were all his doing.

Nico couldn't really say much; his head was spinning and reeling and Amélie's face kept blurring above him. He was lying sprawled on the bed with Amélie perched next to him. This was more than alcohol he knew now, although only the gods knew what it actually was that he'd been drugged with. Maybe it had been slipped into that bottle of champagne? He tried to speak but his vocal cords failed him. He was vaguely aware that Amélie was holding his hand; she had two fingers on his pulse. However, far from playing the gentle matron she was probably waiting for it to stop entirely.

Amélie dropped Nico's hand like a piece of trash. It bounced slightly on the mattress. She turned towards the door, a quizzical eyebrow raised at the sudden silence. There was a spell on the room that meant that no one outside it could hear what was happening inside so there was no point in her asking who it was, trying to play innocent.

Eventually she stood up, hesitating, before taking a tentative step towards the door. There was no room in this plan for underestimation — you did not do that with demigods, especially not ones as powerful as Nico. And from what she could gather, he knew some other pretty powerful demigods too, ones that would be only too happy to stop her at all costs. That's why she'd chosen seduction and then poison — not direct, not combative and she could take Nico somewhere quiet to die where they wouldn't be noticed yet still gain the reputation as the woman who assassinated him.

So the sudden total silence out in the hall? She wasn't about to think that was a good thing.

The window behind her exploded inwards. The shards of glass were followed into the room by the muffled thump of someone hitting the carpet. She whirled around suddenly and saw Percy crouched there, sword in hand, glaring at her. He must have shuffled across from the window of the room next door.

"Hi," Percy said. "Sorry, but I did knock. A lot." He got to his feet and his eyes began roving the room, assessing the situation. He glanced to the door. Annabeth and Rachel were outside; Annabeth had been pretty confident that she could bust through the door by releasing a tiny, Daedalus-inspired bronze bug into the lock which would explode when in position. When Percy had broken in through the window, distracting Amélie, they were going to open the door and come at her from two sides. However, there didn't appear to be any sign of the tiny explosion promised or the door opening which would be a pretty freaking huge spanner in the works of Annabeth's hastily put-together plan.

"You're too late," Amélie said matter-of-factly. "He's going to die."

Percy blinked and followed her gaze to the bed where Nico was sprawled. His blood ran cold and he gasped, stumbling as he walked towards the bed. His feet hadn't worked in the way that he had told them to; he was half-paralysed with fear and worry — Nico was so, so pale, paler than normal, and it looked like he was barely breathing.

"What did you do to him?" Percy demanded, crouching down next to the bed and touching Nico's forehead. It was cold. He checked the door again, convinced that Annabeth would be coming in any second. She would know what to do. She always did.

"Poison," Amélie said, bored. "A pretty strong one too. And stop looking at the door; your friends aren't coming through. The room is soundproof. They can't hear a thing. So, in the meantime, while we wait for him to die…" She held out her hand. Percy had a pretty loose grip on Riptide and it was torn out of his hand and shot towards Amélie, flying over her shoulder and sticking, quivering, in the drywall. Percy did a double take, blinking at the sword, then balled his hands into fists. It would come back eventually but until then…

"Why?" Percy asked tightly, his eyes burning with anger.

"Oh come on," Amélie scoffed. "Seriously? Do you know the kind of respect you get for taking out a demigod?" She paused, cocking her head. "Or… two."

She turned to the nightstand where he purse lay. Her fingers worked deftly on the clasp and she pulled out an old-fashioned perfume bottle. Before Percy could do more than raise an eyebrow at her sudden need to refresh her perfume at such a moment she had squeezed the rubber ball on the atomizer and doused Percy with it.

"Love potion," Amélie said, one side of her mouth quirking upwards into a smug, self-satisfied grin. "I sprayed some on the Prince of Darkness over there when I bumped into him outside the chapel. It worked well enough on him." Next she sprayed herself.

Percy blinked, feeling the fine droplets of potion dry almost instantly on his face. He didn't _feel _any different but when he opened his eyes it was almost as if Amélie had started to shimmer in front of him. Her features were shifting behind a swirling haze and when she reappeared she looked different. _Better. _Her skin had tanned, replacing the porcelain-pale it had been before, and her hair had lightened considerably. It was now closer to a honey blonde.

Her eyes were the change the Percy noticed the most, however; now they were no longer blue but grey, a grey that Percy thought he remembered intimately but suddenly could not place at all.

Surely he knew that shade of grey, had seen it in another pair of eyes before, but where and when and in whose eyes that had been escaped him. All he saw was how beautiful she was, how perfect for him. He knew with a certainty that he loved her more than anything else in the world. He stayed on his knees, Nico forgotten, caught up in her thrall. He never wanted to look at another face again; he could study hers forever and would if she would let him.

"More cooperative now, I see?" Amélie said amusedly, placing the love potion down on the nightstand and slinking around the bed. "Who's a good little demigod, hmm?"

"Me?" Percy asked, disbelief tainting his voice at the fact that she could apparently be so pleased with him.

"Of course," Amélie said, giving Percy's head a quick pat.

Flea-ridden stray mongrels that had rolled in something dead had received more affectionate human touches but Percy's heart leapt at the contact.

There was an explosion at the door. Acrid smoke coiled through the lock and some liquid oozed out. It spattered to the carpet, melting its way through the fibres as it went. The lock-'picking' bug had apparently turned the inner workings of the lock to molten metal.

Amélie whirled around at the intrusion and Percy imitated her; Annabeth and Rachel were stumbling over the threshold, half-blinded by the smoke still coming from the lock.

Percy felt another of Amélie's touches, this one on his shoulder. His flesh sang at the feeling and goosebumps raced away from the point of contact almost as if the rest of his body were trying to rise up and meet the light fingers resting on his collarbone.

"Protect me," Amélie hissed to him, ducking down to whisper in his ear. "If you love me, protect me. No matter what the cost." Then the touch disappeared and it was as if she had melted away into the smoke.

"I can't help but feel that kicking it open would have created less noise _and _mess," Rachel said mildly as she surveyed the damage. "But that's just me."

Annabeth growled out a reply and slammed the door behind her. The smoke was starting to clear and she could see Percy standing by himself in the middle of the room, arms folded. Behind him on the bed was Nico and even from the doorway she could tell his situation was bad. Now they were through the door the air seemed to be punctuated with his wheezy gasps for breath.

"What's going on?" Annabeth demanded of Percy. "Where is she? How is Nico? Why are you just _standing _there?" She paused, narrowing her eyes at her husband's stance and facial expression. Something was very, _very _wrong.

"He can't really hear you," Amélie said, appearing on top of the desk by the door, legs crossed at the knee and looking utterly composed. "Well, I mean, he _can _of course but he won't be paying much attention. Sorry."

Annabeth's eyes widened when she caught sight of Amélie. She looked completely different to the way she had appeared in front of the chapel — shorter, yes, but the most startling thing was that it was almost like looking in the mirror for her. Amélie had been transformed into an almost clone of Annabeth; it was as creepy as all Hades especially given that she currently wanted to tear that face — _her _face — off.

"What did you _do_?" Annabeth asked, aghast at the change.

"To me or to him?" Amélie asked easily. "Although, to be honest, it's all one in the same. I made a love potion. Not only does it make them fall in love with me but it also allows me to outwardly project the appearance of their dream woman. And hey, look. I guess his dream woman is you. Sort of. Well isn't that just _precious_?"

Annabeth snarled; the sound came from deep inside her throat. Knife suddenly drawn as if she had plucked it out of the air she rushed at Amélie, the blade raised. She was fast but Percy was faster; he was suddenly at her side. He grabbed her around the waist and flung her into the wall. Annabeth heard something crack — she didn't have time to differentiate between bone and drywall — and then Percy was on her, pinning her knife hand to the wall with one hand and wrapping the other around her throat. One foot trod painfully across both of hers.

The breath left Annabeth's body, both from being slammed into the wall and the shock of Percy attacking her. She looked up at his face as she struggled to free him; green eyes were glazed, empty to the point that they were almost unrecognisable. If she was going to die now, if Rachel had been right, then sure she wanted to do it looking Percy in the face but this wasn't Percy. These eyes were not her husband's and they chilled her to the bone as he squeezed at her throat and wrist.

Just as black spots were dancing in front of her vision something shattered on the wall next to her head. It had grazed by her temple as it flew and she felt shards of something ring against her skull. The noise had left her almost deaf in the ear closest to the sound.

"Oh, gods. No wonder they'd never let me play softball at Clarion," Rachel muttered, her fingers twitching for something else to throw now that the lamp had missed its intended target. With nothing else throwable — even if she could aim — immediately to hand she took off at a run and leapt at Percy's back, wrapping her legs around his waist and throwing her weight backwards. Caught by surprise, Percy torn free from Annabeth.

It was in midair that Rachel realised the flaw to her plan but there was no time to reconsider as he back smacked to the floor and Percy landed on top of her — Percy was no lineman but neither was he a Nico and it hurt like hell. At least she had saved Annabeth from being strangled; the momentary tangle of limbs that had become her and Percy on the floor had slowed him down enough so that Annabeth could turn on Amélie, swinging her knife in a wide arc that was broken when Amélie kicked Annabeth in the face, sending the demigod staggering backwards.

At that point Rachel lost the fierce grip she was keeping on Percy; with the sound of ripping material and the pop of tearing shirt buttons Percy broke free and got to his feet, charging at Annabeth once again. At the last second, Rachel managed to throw herself flat and snag his ankle with her fingertips; Percy's legs disappeared from underneath him like a cartoon character and he fell flat on his face. It would have been more amusing if it wasn't so necessary to stop him from, you know, _murdering his wife_.

Annabeth, whose nose was bleeding down her face, tightened her grip on her knife and went for Amélie again, who was now off the desk and on the floor. Annabeth slashed with her knife, aiming for the throat, but Amélie pulled back at the last second, whipping her head out of the way, and the blade caught her in the chest. The metal sliced through the sorceress's décolletage, leaving a red gash, and snagged on her dress, cutting through the supporting strap.

"This is _Armani!" _screeched Amélie, her mouth gaping in shock as the dress flapped free, threatening to expose her cleavage. "Armani which I enchanted to change shape when I did. Have you got any idea how much this cost?" Her voice lowered to a growl, her face twisted in hate.

"Nope," Annabeth said. "No idea and I don't care." She punched Amélie in the face, sending her spinning down towards the carpet. The sorceress didn't move again. Annabeth's knuckles sang out in pain at her and she relished the feeling for a second before turning to Rachel and tossing her bag at the redhead. "There's nectar and powdered unicorn horn in there," she said. "Mix them and give them to Nico. Hurry."

Rachel nodded, almost dropping the purse but catching it at the last second. She tore the bag open and shook the contents out on the bed beside Nico, her fingers snatching up a vial of liquid and another of a glittering powder. The Oracle wrenched out two corks with her teeth and spat them out, dumped the powder into the liquid and watched it froth in a way that brought back memories of every chem lab she had ever failed. When the fizzing subsided she poured it down Nico's throat; gasping at the icy feel of his skin, which was slick with sweat, when she put her hand on his chin to open his mouth.

Rachel bit her lip and closed her eyes, praying hard to Apollo. Granted, she had way more of an affinity to the prophecy side of him rather than the healing side of him but she prayed anyway, figuring that, Zeus dammit, he owed her and he owed her good. This was the least he could do after all these years of turning up and trying to schmooze with her in that teenage model form of his.

There was no indication that Apollo had answered her prayer, but Nico gave a juddering gasp anyway and sat bolt upright. He immediately began a process that was awfully reminiscent of hacking up a lung until he puked, barely managing to haul himself over to the edge of the bed to do so in time.

A wide grin split Rachel's face, a grin that didn't even falter (much) in the wake of the sound of vomit spattering against the carpet. She visibly sagged in relief and threw herself down in an armchair next to the nightstand, running a hand across her face; as the adrenaline began to drain out of her she suddenly felt washed out.

Amélie's trip into unconsciousness, via Annabeth's fist, seemed to have broken whatever hold she had had on Percy and the son of Poseidon groaned loudly and rolled onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. He had carpet burns on his chin, forehead and nose from the faceplant he had taken when Rachel had tripped him but other than that he seemed unharmed.

"What happened?" Percy murmured, screwing his eyes closed and pressing them back into his sockets with his fingers, trying to push the headache as far back into his skull as possible.

"You tried to kill me," Annabeth said breezily, one hand absently rubbing at her throat where her husband's fingermarks were beginning to show lividly against the flesh. "Luckily you went at it with your usual half-assed attitude so it didn't stick."

Percy sat up quickly, opened his mouth, sealed it tightly against a tide of nausea that had risen within him, then spoke only when he was sure he wouldn't be sick. "Huh? I did _what_?"

"Well to be fair you were a little under the influence," Rachel said mildly, holding up Amélie's perfume atomiser to the light. She had spotted it on the nightstand from where she'd been sitting. "This is pink and glowing," she continued. "Something tells me it's not Chanel No. 5."

"The love potion?" Annabeth asked curiously. "Clever way to deliver it really."

"I'd place my trust fund on yes," Rachel said grimly.

It wasn't that she was a romantic or anything like that and she was far from an Aphrodite girl, but she firmly believed that love wasn't a force that should be messed with. It was too intertwined with destiny, which really came under the Oracle umbrella, for her to be happy to find someone dicking around with it by brewing up an eau de Rohypnol in a cauldron. With her mouth set in a thin line she crossed the room to the bathroom and emptied the potion down the toilet, flushed, waited, and then flushed again for good measure. Hopefully that was the last they'd see of that.

When she came back out of the bathroom, Nico, it seemed, was done throwing up. He was slumped back on the bed, a pale and rumpled mess. Percy was still on the floor, massaging his temples, and Annabeth was nudging Amélie with the toe of her pump.

"What are we going to do with her?" Rachel asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

Annabeth sighed wearily. "I don't know," she said. "Take her to Chiron, I guess. He'll know what to do."

"Before you even ask, I'll tell you right now that you can order a cab," Nico said grouchily. He was still clutching his stomach. "I am not shadow travelling anywhere tonight. It feels like I just turned my digestive system inside out. I feel like crap."

"Why hi, sunshine!" Annabeth said chirpily. "What, no eternal gratitude for saving your scrawny little ass?"

"If you hadn't forced me to come my life wouldn't have been in danger!" Nico sputtered out incredulously. "Don't even get me started with you."

Annabeth chose to ignore the little tantrum Nico was throwing. "I'll get Chiron to send Argus," she said, going back to their previous topic as if Nico hadn't spoken. "That's easier. Plus it's not like he doesn't have eyes to spare for watching her. Something tells me she's going to be a tricky prisoner."

"This is my _last _wedding," Nico bit out angrily. "I do not care who is getting married next I am _not coming_. Got it?"

"So dramatic," Annabeth said. "It's not like you died or anything."

"Nearly!" Nico shot back, sitting up and folding his arms to give the scowl he shot at her extra effect. "And it wasn't fun, by the way."

"I thought you'd be used to it by now," Rachel said. "It seems to be a hobby you three share. Almost dying, that is."

"At least we're good at it," Percy said with a shrug, a trace of his usual grin finding its way back onto his face. "We get points for that, right? For doing it with style?"

"Oh absolutely," Rachel said, lurching upright again as Annabeth finished cramming the contents of her purse back into the depths, flipped open her cell phone, and dialled. "But, really guys, zero points for effort. You have no follow through. You're always _nearly _dying. You never seem to quite manage it."

"I hate people," Nico muttered. "I hate you all, I hate the world. If it started to end right now my only regret would be that I hadn't had time to organise a parade. When I'm by myself, you know how many people try to kill me?"

"Loads?" Percy suggested innocently.

Nico's nostrils flared. "Only a few," he ground out.

Annabeth snapped her phone shut. "Argus is on his way," she said. "We've got to wait with her until then."

"Ooh. Can we order room service while we wait?" Percy asked, brightening up considerably and reaching up to snatch the menu from the desk Amélie had been sitting on earlier. "I mean, if they're going to charge it to the room and we're not paying…"

"Good plan," Rachel said approvingly. "I could murder a steak right now. Did anyone else notice there was, like, no food on the plates at dinner?"

With the business side of things taken care of Annabeth turned to Nico. "And by the way, just for the record, you're acting like a baby," she told him scornfully. "I know I'm a little late to the part and all but still: grow up."

"_You _grow up," Nico muttered petulantly, scowling at her.

"Remind me _why_ I just saved your life?" Annabeth asked through gritted teeth.

"Hey, no one asked you to," Nico said.

"So you'd rather you were dead right now?" Annabeth demanded.

"You know what? Maybe. You know what they don't have any of in Hades?" He managed to climb to shaky feet and stumbled across the room, shooting a withering glance at Amélie's crumpled form as he went. "_Weddings._" And with that opened the door and staggered out into the hall, determined that the next wedding invitation he received was being cast into the deepest, darkest pit that Tartarus had to offer.

"Hey Nico!" Percy called out from the room, the noise-cancelling spell redundant because of the still-open door. "Where are you going? They've got three types of cheesecake!"

Nico coalesced back into human form; he'd been about a second away from turning into pure shadow and winking out of existence all together. His stomach growled treacherously at him and he sagged, sighed, and turned back to the room.

"Fine. I want a burger," he said, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. "With _every_thing on it. Everything. And all three types of cheesecake. Also, wine. And I'm only doing this because I'm hungry. Not because I like you or anything."

Percy laughed, shaking his head. "Whatever. Sit down, man. I'll order."

Nico righted the chair from in front of the desk that Annabeth and Amélie had sent flying earlier and threw himself down on it. Assassination attempt aside, with good food and present company this might, just might, turn out not to be the absolute worst wedding he had ever been to.


End file.
